


Assistance by Ghosts

by Small_Hobbit



Series: A Study By Ghosts [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 17:13:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16223627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Small_Hobbit/pseuds/Small_Hobbit
Summary: It is always assumed ghosts are the result of people meeting an untimely death.  And whilst on occasion this may be true, it is equally the case that much loved literary figures of a bygone age may in fact produce their own ghosts in more modern times.  It was thus the characters originally created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle continued their existence fighting criminals in the twenty-first century.They could also be instrumental in righting wrongs.





	Assistance by Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LJ/DW's WhatIf AU 'Supernatural' Challenge

“No, no, no!” Sherlock Holmes exclaimed.  He was, as befitted a ghostly consulting detective, floating around above two corporeal police detectives who were examining a dead body.  “You see but you do not observe.  Were you completely blind you couldn’t do any worse.”

“I think that’s a bit of an exaggeration,” John Watson observed.  He floated over from where he had been playing cards with Greg Lestrade.

“We shall see,” Sherlock replied.  “And, finally.”

Greg joined them, and all three ghosts watched as the detectives, satisfied that all the necessary photos had been taken and sufficient notes had been made, turned the body over.

“Oh!” said one of the detectives.

“Damn!” said the other one.  “Well that changes things.”

Sherlock removed a block of post-it notes from his coat pocket and scribbled something on one of them before letting it drop close to the detectives’ feet.  It read ‘Imbecile’.

The female detective picked it up, read it and stuffed it into her own coat pocket.

“What was that?” the male detective asked.

“Nothing, sir.”

“It better not have been another of those post-it notes.  I meant what I said about getting you transferred if there was any more trouble.”

“Just a tissue slipped out of my coat pocket, sir.”

“Good!”  The man stomped out of the room.

The woman waited until he had left before saying, “I really would like to stay in this department.  I’ve worked so hard to get here.”

John took a post-it from Sherlock, wrote ‘Sorry’ on it, drew a little flower, and dropped the note down. 

The detective picked it up, smiled and said, “It’s okay.  Whoever you are I appreciate you’re trying to help.”  Then she hurried out to catch up with her superior officer.

“We need to do something,” Greg said.  “She’s a good officer.”  Sherlock grunted, and Greg added, “She may not be able to do your genius leaps of logic, but she’s quick, thorough, and she listens to other people.  She could go far if she was given the opportunity.”

“Which is why that prat, what’shisname, Jones, can’t stand her,” John said.  There was a sudden swoosh.  “What on earth?  Oh, Stanley, it’s you.”

Stanley Hopkins was bent double, for all the world as if he was trying to get his breath, which given that he too was a ghost was somewhat unlikely.  In fact, he was waiting for his ghostly lungs to catch up with the rest of his body.

“Stanley,” Greg said, “what have I told you about keeping your ectoplasm intact?”

“Presumably something so urgent has happened he was compelled to join us immediately,” Sherlock said.

“Precisely.”  Stanley, lungs now re-united, said.  “It’s Jones.  He’s planning on blaming his latest cock-up on Donovan and meanwhile claiming her work as his own.”

“Are you sure?” Greg asked.  “How do you know?”

“I read his email chain.  We have to do something,” Stanley answered.

“It’s your fault she’s in quite as much trouble with Jones,” John said.  “Sticking post-its all over Jones’ office saying ‘Listen to Donovan!’ was asking for it.”

“What else was he supposed to do?” Sherlock said.  “It wasn’t as if Jones could blame anyone for the notes.  They weren’t there when he left his office.  He was standing in front of the door while he harangued his team, so no-one could have got in.  And they were all over the walls when he went back.”

“If Donovan gets back to the Yard and finds out what’s happening she’ll resign before they kick her out,” Greg said.

“Then we delay her,” Sherlock replied.

“But then she’ll be in even more trouble,” Stanley reasoned.

“No, she won’t,” Sherlock insisted.  “Come on, this way.”

They exited the building through a window and dropped down almost to street level.  There were two cars parked there.

“All we need to do,” Sherlock said, “is immobilise the front car.”

John grinned at Greg.  “That’s easy,” he said.

They waited until the driver had started the car and then John knocked on the driver’s door window, whilst Greg simultaneously knocked on the passenger door window.  The driver, suddenly distracted, drove straight into the bollard which was in front of him.

Jones swore.  “Right.  I’m taking your car, Donovan.  Make your own way back.”

“Phase One sorted,” said Greg.  He and John gave each other a ghostly high five, which looked rather like one hand with ten fingers.  He looked around, “Where’s Sherlock and Stanley?”

“They must have gone in the car with Jones,” John said.  “I suppose we’d better follow them.  Bus or tube?”

***

When Sherlock and Stanley arrived at New Scotland Yard they followed Jones up to his office.

“Do you have a plan?” Stanley asked.

“I think a little good old-fashioned haunting should do the job,” Sherlock replied.  He went into the drawer of Jones’ desk and slightly loosened the top of the bottle of whisky which Jones kept in there.  This meant the whisky didn’t pour out, but a small trickle ran onto the contents of the drawer and down one leg of the desk.

The Chief Superintendent came into Jones’ office.  “I understand you want to have Donovan transferred,” he said.

“Yes, sir,” Jones replied.  “She’s sadly not up to the job here.”

The Chief Super sniffed and said, “Have you been drinking?”

“Oh, no, sir.  You know I’d never drink on duty.”

“Well, I can distinctly smell whisky.  Never mind, carry on.”

“The final straw was when Donovan failed to give the correct instructions and we missed out on apprehending the Tranter gang.”

Sherlock stuck a row of post-it notes together, which said ‘Wrong’ and ‘Liar’, and held them above the Chief Super’s head, so Jones could clearly see them.  Jones began to go red in the face.

The Chief Super said, “What’s got into you, man?  And have the common decency to look at me when I’m talking to you.”

Jones waved his hand to indicate the post-it notes.  By the time the Chief Super had turned his head they had disappeared.

Stanley turned two of the important memos the Chief Super had sent into paper aeroplanes which floated down onto Jones’ desk.  One of them was quite an intricate construction – Stanley had enjoyed folding it. 

The Chief Super glared at Jones, but said, “At least the Barnes case is going well.”

“Yes sir, I’ve been pleased at the progress, I’ve done a lot of work on it.”

Smoothly, Sherlock slid the copy of Donovan’s email showing her thoughts on the case onto the top of the pile.  The Chief Super picked it up and read it.

He pursed his lips.  “I am not sure what is going on, but for the moment I shall put it down to stress.  Your current behaviour is not one I expect from a senior officer, and I am therefore ordering you to take a fortnight’s sick leave, starting immediately.  Do you have anything you wish to say?”

Jones stood up.  “It’s the ghosts, sir.  There are ghosts in this building and they’ve got it in for me.”

“And, in addition, you will attend counselling.”  The Chief Super spun on his heel and left the office.

***

John and Greg arrived at the Yard, just in time to see Jones leaving the building, clearly in a foul temper.  He was followed by two jubilant ghosts, one of whom seemed to be turning cartwheels.

“Stanley,” Greg said, “Can’t you behave with a little decorum?”

“Why should I?” Stanley said.  “I’m a ghost.  If I want to cartwheel through Scotland Yard I can.  I’m doing it on behalf of those who feel like it but wouldn’t be allowed to.”

“I presume you’ve had a good result?” John said.

“Definitely,” Sherlock replied.  “And, at the end, Jones tried to blame his behaviour on ghosts.  However will he justify that?”

“Well,” John replied, “once you eliminate the impossible …”


End file.
